


Assassin's Sanctuary

by NewYorkNovelist



Series: Prelude to Pale Fire [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe, Assassin's Creed: Rogue, Assassins, F/M, French woman, Irish Man, Portugal - Freeform, Seven years war, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25785238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewYorkNovelist/pseuds/NewYorkNovelist
Summary: For Shay Patrick Cormac, the Colonial Brotherhood had become more than an association. They took him in when he lost his father and his oldest friend found him on the street. Few of his brothers and sisters consider him family, but he remains a brash young man, not taking his role as an Assassin serious.For Annabelle Laure Vasser, family is a luxury. Something you cannot take for granted. As an orphan, she’s grown up in the Parisian Brotherhood of Assassins and learned that she could count upon her brothers and sisters in her time of need.After she fails a mission in Callao, Peru, Annabelle doubts the way the Council delegates contracts. Contracts that cost the lives of thousands.But to complete her current mission, Annabelle must rid herself of doubt and Shay Cormac’s affections and embrace her old self. A part of her that died in the Temple beneath the Peruvian ocean.
Relationships: Original character x Shay Cormac
Series: Prelude to Pale Fire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946890
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Annabelle Vasser**

**Lisbon, Portugal**

**1750**

**1.**

“Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places,” Annabelle Vasser repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time.

The words sounded like they were coming from her, not a rehearsed prayer to a God she didn’t believe in. She must have said the prayer — and the other ones — more than a thousand times, so it became routine. None could guess how miserable she had become, throwing herself into her work and questioning everyone and everything around her.

“And talents inunexpected people, and give, O Lord the grace to tell them so,” she continued.

 **If there is a God** , she thought, **he has abandoned us long ago. I am living proof.**

Annabelle clenched her eyes tight, trying to block out the thoughts that assaulted her every waking moment. The painful memories of four years earlier surged within her mind again. It crashed down upon her like the tsunami of a mad titan, heralding the recollection of failure and the deaths of thousands over and over.

After she swallowed the lump forming in her throat, Annabelle lifted the black veil over her head and looked upon her reflection in the stained mirror. She didn’t recognize the down-trodden woman staring back at her. Loose skin etched their bags beneath her dark eyes.

Four years ago, she held a healthy glow to her. Then, she believed in something bigger than her baseless desires, that what she was doing for the common man was righteous. She would have gone about her business with no uncertainties.

 **Misgivings the Brotherhood had earned.** How could she be so naïve? The Council sent her to her doom.

Now, she knew too much of how the world worked, how corrupt even the man who raised her could be. He preached enlightenment. It was a farce. When she needed him the most, he turned his back upon her.

She scowled at herself. The frown etched across her fair countenance. Even in her youth, she could see the weight of the world reflected in her gaze. None could understand what had happened in Peru all those years ago, the singular outcome which pressed down upon her like a printing press. In the events which happened afterward, she would blame herself for not speaking up, positing she could have spared the traitor pain.

The French frigate carrying her and the other passengers docked fifteen minutes prior. She had just enough time to slip into her disguise and practice the prayers one last time before they would have to leave.

“Very good, Annabelle,” her companion, a man by the name of Jacques, spoke. He stared at her with his storm-colored eyes.

Once before her journey to the New World, Annabelle had looked up to this man. He had trained her in the ways of assassination, refinement, and sailing. She appreciated his attention as she would not be the woman she was without his intervention.

Jacques had saved her from a life on the streets all those years ago and raised her for a good portion of her life, but when she needed him the most, he abandoned her to her fate. She hated him for that, retreating into herself when he was around, but she couldn’t tell him her disillusionment when he asked.

 **Rarely, does he ask,** she thought. He would have preferred to pretend the preceding events did not happen as one was aft to do when face with an impossible choice, and when he mentioned them, it was to twist her into doing something he thought needed done. In her best interest, of course.

“With your talents,” he continued and put a strong arm upon her shoulder, “we should conclude our business tonight. We’ll be back at the chateau in a fortnight, and the Piece of Eden will be on its way back to Italy. And we’ll have a nice bottle of port wine for our troubles.”

“I hope so,” Annabelle agreed. She fussed some with her disguise. “I do miss France so when we are away. I do not feel quite like myself until my feet are back on French soil.”

“Do not wear it like that,” Jacques instructed, adjusting part of the habit. His eyes crawled over every inch of her, and she felt like she wanted to be invisible.

Sometimes she wondered if his interest in her was pure, a love between a girl and the man who found her on the streets and raised her, or if it was more deviant, the desire a man held for a woman.

‘You don’t want to exude any sexuality whatsoever,’ he continued. ‘I know it is hard for you to suppress, even in this garb, but you must do your best.’

“I don’t like being so plain,” she pouted. “Are you sure this is the only way to get close to the target? Perhaps, I — ”

“You will never get close enough any other way,” he interrupted. “This man is a Templar. He has an armed guard. The only people he interacts with are the nuns at the convent. We must do it his way. You know that.”

“Of course,” Annabelle deferred to Jacques.

While she wondered what this man done to deserve death — beside his affiliation with the Order and being in possession of an ancient artifact that belonged to the Roman Brotherhood — she hardened herself to the questions.

Since her trip to Peru four years earlier, she questioned every decision the Council, the group of old men and women who delegated the Parisian Brotherhood’s tasks, made. How could she not?

Annabelle turned from Jacques, picked up the half bottle of whiskey on the table, and took a swig. The alcohol burnt all the way down, but the memories were worse than the drink’s sting.

“If you are going to drink that swill,” Jacques lectured, “at least, use a glass. It’s unseemly.”

Taking his direction, she placed the bottle back on the table. In the next second after, she popped out her hidden blade, the ancient weapon strapped to her wrist that told of her affiliation, to make sure it worked, and in the next hairsbreadth, she sheathed it once more.

 **The priest will be dead by sunset,** she thought. If there was one thing she was good at, it was her craft. She swelled with pride when she outwitted her marks. Annabelle was a master of disguise, viewing each different persona as a blank canvas, and she were an artist.

“Remember,” he drawled, “I will be at the inn in Tomar. You are to rendezvous with my contact as soon as you enter the city.”

When they had set out from France, Jacques had told her what to suspect: soldiers surrounded the man but he had a way within. A nun, by the name of Violãte Cardoso, who had worked with the Father for several years had become Jacques’s confidante over the years.

Annabelle had met with Violãte once or twice when the nun had traveled to Paris to connect with Jacques. Violãte appeared like a virtuous woman, but when Annabelle first met the Portuguese nun, she seemed unlike any pious woman Annabelle knew.

In the next few years, Violãte would play an important role in her life. Annabelle would find out the true nature of the other woman, discovering she had more in common with Violãte than with anyone. She would become Annabelle’s own confidante, trusting her more than any brother or sister.

She only wanted her life back, and she felt this bit of business with the priest would end up making it worse. How could she raise her concern to him? It didn’t matter, she grimly decided. He wouldn’t listen, anyway.

“Annabelle,” he continued. “As soon as you conclude your business, return to me there. I need not stress the importance of this mission. You need to retrieve the Piece of Eden, but be careful about it. We do not want another Callao or Lima.”

“Oui (yes), Jacques.” She looked down at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes, and walked out the door. She reeled as if he had come over and slapped her like a misbehaving child.

The memories of her past swelled like the wave that overtook her in the Peruvian sea all those years ago. Annabelle wouldn’t be able to escape it — not through drink when the person who raised her always reminded her of her failure.

 **It is my fault,** she thought. Although a stubborn fellow would tell her otherwise, everything that would happen after would be her fault too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Shay Cormac**

**Tomar, Portugal**

**1750**

**1.**

**The sooner I get this over with,** Shay Patrick Cormac thought, **the sooner we can return to the Homestead.** As the Irish Colonial Assassin followed the dirt path through the emerald rolling hills to the Convent sitting on top, he held the bible he carried close to his chest. Shay didn’t believe in a God. He couldn’t. The things he witnessed wouldn’t let him.

The book was only a prop: something that would allow him to get close to his target. He knew the old priest harbored an artifact from the time of Adam and Eve. He saw people entering the elaborate church. They resembled ants as people often did when they ventured into any religious building on a Holy Day.

 **Pentecost,** Shay thought again. He watched several people ahead of him carrying a platter of food. They made their way to the hilltop structure as more people joined the mobile feast. A **nd here I am taking away one of their priests. Achilles better be right about him. I don’t want to murder an innocent man.**

He pulled his hood up over the top of his head and obscured his face from the growing crowd. No one would remember a lone Irishman visiting the Church that day. There would be no trace of him. He and his contact, a nun by the name of Violãte Cardoso, would make sure of that.

Shay and Violãte had become close in the last few weeks. Like many women before her, she couldn’t resist his charm. He, however, was tiring of her.

Because of his ruminations, Shay was not watching where he was going. He went over his plan in his head, over and over, envisioning different results. Shay wanted to know an escape route if things soured. How he wished he and Liam scoped out the building before he went to complete the contract.

 **Nothing ever comes easily.** When Achilles briefed Liam and Shay on the assignment before they departed, it had sounded like a simple job: kill a Templar posing as a priest. He and Liam arrived in Lisbon a fortnight before.

There were a few times Shay had tried to infiltrate the monastery, but he couldn’t get close enough. His target kept himself under guard. It was as if someone had tipped him off. Shay shook that thought off. No one knew the real reason he and Liam had come to Portugal.

Lost in his contemplation, Shay rounded a corner not watching where he was going. He happened to be in that exact spot at the same time as a nun that wasn’t watching where she was going, either, and the two of them collided.

The smaller woman fell to the ground. Shay dropped the bible he was carrying as he fumbled to catch her, and he snatched the rosary connected to the belt circling her waist. The beads strained, and the string broke, sending them flying everywhere.

“Shite!” he blurted before composing himself. He offered a hand to the woman. “I beg your pardon, sister. I was lost in the Lord’s prayer, and I wasn’t watching where I was going. Let me help you up. Are you all right?”

The nun took a moment to look herself over. Her habit’s skirt was torn, and her knees were scraped. There was a nasty cut on her hand. Blood dripped from her palm onto the rock she landed upon.

 **Nothing looks to be wrong with her,** Shay thought. The gash, however, needed to be cleaned. He knew without care that it would become infectious.

“I am fine,” she excused. “It was my fault.”

“Nonsense,” Shay argued as he picked up her rosary’s wayward beads. “At least, let me make it up to you by tending to that cut. You could get an infection if you don’t take care of it properly.”

He looked up and smiled at her. The sun framed her, illuminating the golden flakes smoldering like embers in her brown-colored eyes, and he thought to himself how the light complimented her features. He admonished himself for thinking such things. This was an actual one, one who had taken her vows. She wouldn’t be interested in him. Not like that.

Something else in her gaze called to Shay. There was vulnerability deep down, the kind that spoke to a man’s soul. Shay pushed the feeling within himself, hoping to bury it. He only wanted to make sure she would be all right, he told himself.

“I don’t think this warrants a need to see the physician,” the sister protested. There was a wariness in her eyes now, as if she didn’t trust his good-nature.

 **I wonder what happened to her.** She had constructed armor around herself, but Shay dared not ask. The entire situation was strange as it was.

“You are right,” he agreed as a nonthreatening smile spread across his countenance, “but this is my fault. All me to help you as it would ease my mind. I have things, bandages and such at the tavern. I insist.”

She looked back at the church a few times and swallowed the lump he saw forming in her throat before she answered him. “Very well, Mestra (Mister) . . .”

“Cormac, but you can call me Shay. We will have you back here before sunset. Before you know it, you will be back among your sisters.”

As they both walked back down the path, each took a glance back at the Convent of Christ.

 **Liam will not like the delay,** Shay considered, **but he must understand.** Shay would not allow this woman to get an infection as a result of his absent-mindedness. The aging priest had earned a reprieve. Death would visit him another day, and he would have another chance to see the sunset. It was not like the old man was going anywhere. Neither was Shay: or Liam, for that matter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Annabelle Vasser**

**Tomar, Portugal**

**1750**

**1.**

**What am I doing?** Annabelle thought as Shay held the tavern’s front door open for her. It surprised her. Shay was not the only one who was ever kind to her, but at that moment, she couldn’t think of anyone else. The Irishman, who had an accent unlike anything she had heard before, intrigued her.

It was not the first time she had taken risks since her trip to Callao and Lima. For the lives lost — the men and women who could not come back — she earned death. That penitence was the only thing that interested Annabelle.

Jacques had witnessed her dangerous descent into madness, and while he assured her he would speak to the Council about the events that transpired in the Peruvian ocean, he remained silent. The Council had sanctioned her, admonishing her choice. They blamed her for the deaths. The man who had become a father to her blamed her too: for the contract’s failure. No one could say anything that she hadn’t said to herself.

 **It’s only a matter of time,** she thought, **before the Grim Reaper comes for me.** She wondered if the Irishman would do it himself. Would he be the one to end the misery within her? He seemed like a nice enough fellow.

“How long have you been on your path, Sister?” Shay asked. She knew he was trying to make small talk. They filled most of their journey down the hill with such talk. He wanted to know about her, about the persona Annabelle crafted, and she spared no details. Each lie thoughtfully crafted by the one before it.

“Since I was upon this earth for nine winters.” That was not a lie, per se. That was when Jacques had found her on the streets, when he had discovered she had an innate ability to see what others could not. He brought her before the Council who currently chided her.

That is why Jacques is here. The Council did not trust her to accomplish even a simple contract. Could she blame them? Not after Callao and Lima.

“How long has the sea called to you, Mr. Cormac?” Annabelle continued, trying to not think of her present circumstance with the Parisian Brotherhood. “You are a mariner, no? I seem to smell the ocean upon you.”

“Aye,” Shay answered, stepping into the tavern behind her. He spoke louder now so she could hear him over the din of the crowded common room. “I don’t own me own ship, just yet, but I hope to someday soon. A ship provides so many ways to have a livelihood. Hardly would have to make port, just live off the sea.”

“That sounds dreadfully boring.” Annabelle blurted without thinking.

Jacques presently took her attention, sitting at a table only five paces ahead of her. He made eye contact with her and stood with a jerk.

“It’s what you make of it,” Shay countered. He seemed oblivious to Jacques, and if she were honest with herself, everyone else in the room. He gave her his full attention.

Discretely, Annabelle motioned for Jacques to sit down. She didn’t want him to approach, to make a scene like he had a tendency to do. Jacques would want to know about Shay, about how they met, and something told her she needed to keep the Irishman a secret. He couldn’t know — not yet, anyway.

 **I don’t know what Jacques would do to him,** she fretted. Annabelle knew he would deem the Irishman a threat. It wasn’t something she will risk, and what made it worse was that Annabelle didn’t know why she should care about Shay.

A look of confusion still spread across Jacques’s features. He lifted one of his bushy eyebrows as if to ask about the priest, and Annabelle shook her head, briefly, much to his immediate dismay. She could see the disappointment in his eyes, that same look he gave her when she returned from Peru. How she wanted to run from that demoralizing gaze.

“There are things to do at sea,” Shay continued, apparently oblivious of her communication with Jacques, much to her relief. “Singing, fishing, whaling. It’s a lot of work, but it’s the rewarding kind.”

“You sing?” she asked, finding her interest in Shay peaking. Almost at once, she lost interest in Jacques. Many of her countrymen wouldn’t have liked Shay as he was Irish — and, as she would learn over the years, reckless and passionate. He was taking an unknown woman into his inn room, and by her garb, it was clear she was no prostitute.

He has caused Jacques unrest, she thought and chided herself for the pleasure she felt for it. She tried to forget the disappointment in her former teacher’s eyes. He couldn’t understand what she went through, couldn’t understand she deserved to die for Peru, but, as she couldn’t take her own life at that point, Annabelle had to be redeemed. That was the only way she could live with herself.

“Aye,” Shay replied. “Anyone can sing. Whether it is good rests on their skill. I take it you sing with your sisters. Daily hymns, I imagine. This way.”

She pressed the fabric against the wound on her palm, the cloth he insisted on placing around her hand himself. It was strange to have a man fuss over her. Jacques raised her to depend on no other. She couldn’t allow anyone to get close enough to her for that to happen, and any romantic ideals she may have held she let go off long ago. No one would care if she were hurt. No one would sit by her sickbed out of their minds with grief.

If anyone asked her opinion on the subject, Annabelle would tell them she preferred it that way. There were less likely to be casualties if she never got close to anyone. It didn’t stop her from feeling lonely, though.

“Of course,” she said as she gazed at him out of the corner of her eye. “I am no lark or anything like it. In fact, I would say I could barely hold a tune, but, si (yes), I sing. Any of my sisters can hold a melody better than I can.”

 **He is so handsome.** Shay reminded her of a vagabond. His unruly hair hung around his face as he moved seamlessly in rhythm with her steps. A blanket of dark stubble darted across his thick jaw. It appeared he hadn’t visited the barber since he arrived in Portugal. Judging by his accent, he wasn’t native to Tomar, and he wasn’t from any place in Ireland she had visited before.

“What brings you to Tomar, Mr. Cormac?” Annabelle asked, preferring to keep the topic on the man. It would be easier to keep track of her lies that way.

Before Shay could answer her question, he stopped before a door. He knocked in two rapid successions. As he turned toward her, Annabelle lifted one of her eyebrows and smiled innocently at Shay. She needed a drink.

“That was quick, Shay,” a masculine voice — another Irishman — greeted them as Shay entered the room with her. “Who’s this, now?”

“We’ve bumped into each other at the Covenant, Liam,” Shay explained, but he didn’t offer much more of an explanation.

She stood there and rubbed the cloth covering her hand.

Annabelle wondered if there was a way she could excuse herself from them, but Shay had insisted upon seeing to caring for her injury himself. Why would he do such a thing?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’brien. I’m Sister Ana Maria,” Annabelle said after Shay’s friend, a man named Liam O’brien, introduced himself.

“Sister Ana Maria, the Lark of the Convent of Christ.” Shay smiled at her, the flirtatious tone inappropriate for who she pretended to be, and she tried to not notice how her heart fluttered at his attention. She didn’t know this man. “Sit there. I need to fetch a few things, first.”

Like an obedient child, she listened to him. He could have something sinister planned for her with his friend, but something in his posture told her that wasn’t true. The calmness in his gaze quieted any fear she should have held. It didn’t matter much. If either man had such thoughts, both would be dead before either could act upon them — or, rather that was what she told herself.

“Forgive us,” Shay said as he sat across from her. He sat a large bottle of rum, a swatch of cloth, and a thick wad of bandages on the small table between them. “This is all we have left. Liam here drank the good whiskey. Perhaps, he’ll fix your rosary as a penance as I clean that.”

“That isn’t necessary,” she protested, but even though she could it would fall on deaf ears, she still tried. “None of this is. I can repair it and see to my wound. It’s my fault we collided. Need I remind you I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Annabelle was getting flustered, not for the reasons she should have, however. The priest remained alive, able to see another sunrise, and Shay’s kindness stuck her in that room with him and his friend. That was what should have bugged her. It wasn’t. The Irishman confounded her. She actively denied what she wanted. He was handsome and too charming.

Shay took her hand in his, dwarfing her delicate fingers. His gentle touch seared itself in her memories.

“And Mr. Cormac — ” she protested.

“Call me Shay.”

“ **Mr.** Cormac, I am most assuredly not the _Lark of the Convent of Christ_ ,” she insisted. My lyrical talent would surely break whatever glass you have.” He poured the alcohol on the cut.

“And she’s modest, too, Liam,” Shay bragged. “Of course, she is. She’s probably in possession of every virtue under the sun. My lady, it is a shame that the Lord should have you all to Himself. A real shame, so.”

“You speak out of turn, sir,” Annabelle tried to regain her composure, to keep her disguise intact. She couldn’t allow this roguish Irishman to make such suggestions to her. “I am soon to take my vows, and such talk is inappropriate. It is blasphemous.”

“Let me be stricken down, then,” he laughed in clear defiance. His pursuit confused her. He was carrying a bible, yet he spoke like one who didn’t believe. She wondered if she was the only one in disguise, but the thought only lasted as long as the moment of silence.

“You haven’t taken your vows yet, you say?”

Annabelle felt like a rabbit staring at the wolf. He was hunting her, and although all of her body was curious about where it would lead with this man, she could not help the dread billowing within her. No matter how many times she had envisioned her death — in various ways — she couldn’t see this outcome. This man was actively pursuing her.

“This is highly inappropriate.” She snatched her hand from his. “You brought me here beneath false pretenses, kind sir.”

“Calm down, Ana.” He took her hand in his once more and poured more rum over the wound. It stung as the liquid poured over her flesh and dripped onto the table. “I’m not having a go at you.”

“ **Sister** Ana Maria,” Annabelle corrected. “And let me make this perfectly clear, sir. You will never have a ‘go’ at me. I may still be in my postulancy, but I **am** devoted to my Lord.”

Liam didn’t comment on their conversation. He sat at the table too with his head bowed as he placed one rosary bead after another onto the string. Occasionally, he would shake his head.

“You misunderstand, milady,” Shay cooed. “I mean to say that I wasn’t being disrespectful to you, Ana. I’m not having a go. Don’t let cultural difference sour our interactions, so?”

“This entire situation is disrespectful,” she sneered. “Are you even a man of faith? I’m beginning to doubt your reasons for having me come here, sir, and if we are finished, I would like to be on my way.”

“Such fire!”

“I’d let it go, Shay,” Liam warned beneath his breath. Annabelle still could hear him, however. He placed another bead upon the string. “I feel that this woman is more dangerous than meets the eye. She wasn’t always a nun.”

“You should listen to your friend,” she confirmed.

“I have the uncanny habit of doing just the opposite.” Shay laughed, the lilting sound filling the small room.

“You are impossible!” she exclaimed, at her wit’s end.

“He’s actually quite simple,” Liam chuckled. “Just get him drunk. If you’re lucky, he’ll pass out, and you can sneak out after.”

“I’m not some lightweight, Liam!”

**2.**

Annabelle brought the tankard of rum to her lips, happy for the distraction, and was immediately aware as a nun she should have sworn off liquor. The carefully crafted facade was fading.

“How did you get that?” Shay asked, slurring his speech, as he leaned forward in the chair. He swayed. She laughed as he almost fell out of his seat. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t disregard how her heart raced at his smirk.

“From my childhood, Mr. Cormac.”

Annabelle steeled herself. She wasn’t drunk enough to fall for this rogue. He still pursued her, and the longer she found in his company, the more she wanted to give into his advances. She, however, wouldn’t endanger her mission. She wasn’t impaired enough for that, yet.

“Call me Shay, Ana.” He gulped another mouthful of rum from his mug.

“If that is what you wish, Shay.” She let her guard down. Anyone in that room, including Shay, could see she desired him, but as she had never seen a man romantically, she didn’t know how to proceed.

 **If I allowed him to bed me,** Annabelle thought, it would destroy my ruse. Annabelle couldn’t fail again. She couldn’t have an outcome like she did in Peru. Who knew how the Council take after she failed them once more?

“I do,” he said. She could smell the rum on his breath and see the heat behind his eyes, and her body responded. The yearning mortified a part of her. How could she allow such a thing to happen? That was what Jacques would have said. Annabelle couldn’t help but wonder if it would be so bad if it happened.

Annabelle sat back and created more space between them. She wanted to give into her baser instinct. As quickly as she had become attracted to him, with the help of alcohol no less, she wouldn’t act upon it. Liam was with them.

At that moment, she changed tactics, hoping it would hinder his intentions. It would not be the last time she would try to change the subject with Shay. He had noticed the diagonal scar running across her cheek and the bridge of her nose. “You want to know how I received such a wound?”

“Yes. How does a nun get a scar like that? What did you do before? Were you a whore, and you got cut? No, you’re too pretty to be a whore, much too pretty. What happened?”

“I’m finished,” Liam coughed and interrupted their moment as he handed her the rosary. “It’s missing a bead, though. I searched around here for it, but I think you left it at the convent.”

“Thank you.” Annabelle sat the rosary on the table before her.

“If you have no further need of me,” Liam excused as he pushed his seat away from the table, “I think I will retire for the night.”

“Night Liam.” Shay turned back to her, giving her his full attention. “So what happened? How did you get it?”

How many times had she told the story about the scar upon her face? The only one who knew the truth was Jacques, and the only reason he knew was not from her telling him. He had found her, saved her from the monster who had cut her face, but he arrived much too late.

As Annabelle looked into Shay’s eyes, she felt the urge to tell him the truth. At least, about that. She would have to embellish it, to make it fit her persona’s narrative, but she would give him the truth: her version, anyway.

“I wish I could tell you it was innocent.” She picked up the rum, poured the contents into her glass, and set the bottle back on the table. “But, no. It was something worse. Something much darker.”

“You were a whore, then?”

“No. My mother and father were merchants. However, my mother died from the tempered fever when I was younger. Father didn’t want me in the store. He wanted me out of the house. He couldn’t look at me. As a result, I was left to myself often. On the streets. I was a mischievous child, always seeing how far I could push someone before they reacted.”

Shay reached over and touched her shoulder. There was nothing desirous to the touch, nothing carnal sparking between them at that moment. He was a sharp man, able to read her emotions. Misjudging Shay would lead to the downfall of the Colonial Brotherhood. She could see a glimpse of the righteous man she would come to know later in her life, the man who would always do what was right despite how hard it would be.

“One evening," she explained in a flat voice. "I went too far. A shop owner caught me. As he was assaulting me, he held a knife to my throat. It slipped and cut me. My innocence lost over a stolen loaf of bread. He left me to bleed out in the darkened alleyway. Father later found me. He took me to a convent. The sisters there gave me a new meaning, a new life.”

The memories of that night assaulted her again. Jacques found her then, her skirts soiled with her own blood. After an examination from a midwife at the bequest of the Council, there were doubts Annabelle would ever have children. The monster destroyed her.

She didn't know when it happened, but she knew Shay had been holding her. He wrapped his arms around her, her cheek on his chest. Annabelle could hear the dull thump of his heart. What made this stranger special? Why did he care for her so? She didn't know, but she didn't want to question it. Neither knew how this moment would change both of their lives.

**3.**

After she confessed what had befallen her in her childhood, something changed between them. Shay ceased to pursue her, handling her with care. He seemed to sense what she needed, and like the future lover he would be, he acted accordingly. Before Shay and after she returned from Peru, Annabelle thought her life was over. She could not know what would happen if she were brave enough to find out where she would end up with Shay unless she were brave enough to find out.

Before she could find out, there was a soft rap against the wooden doorjamb. Jacques stood there. The thick, smoky haze of the common room drifted up the stairs. It cloaked him. He looked back and forth between Annabelle and Shay, and she swore she could read the disapproval and maybe a hint of jealousy in his eyes.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Sister,” Jacques said, but not bothering to hide his French accent. Like her, he was a master of deception in his own right. He didn’t see a reason to hide where he was from with the Irishman. “I have been waiting for you. This ‘morn, you told me you would return with waters from the spring. When you had not return, I worried.”

 **There is a little truth in his words,** she thought. Jacques worried about his reputation, that she would mess up this contract like she had before. To her credit, this was slightly different. The Precursor Relic, the artifact from the time of Adam and Eve, was not beneath the sea. Only a priest carried it this time.

“Brigands lurk in the woods,” she replied, able to think quick on her feet. “As I was returning from the Matron Mother to consult the local authorities, I bumped into my friend here. He offered to see to my wound, and I would guess it is later than I thought it was. I will return to the Spring tomorrow and retrieve your waters.” Annabelle couldn’t resist adding, jabbing at his manhood with the displeasure she held for him now. “I am sure your wife will understand. Tomorrow morning, the task’ll be finished.”

“I only hope my wife will understand the delay.” There was no room to mistake his words. She was sure the Council wouldn’t understand, either. They were cut from the same cloth as Jacques. He didn’t understand about the Temple and Peruvian artifact; he wouldn’t understand her delay with the priest: or her fascination with this Irishman.

“I will take you to this spring tomorrow,” Shay offered, and before she or Jacques could protest, he added, “I will not have these ruffians mishandling you. The Lord’ll strike me down if they did.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Shay Cormac**

**Location: Tomar, Portugal**

**Date: 1750**

**1.**

“I just returned from morning mass,” Liam said as he stepped into the room. Shay had slept in most of the morning, sleeping off the hangover from drinking the night before, and now nursed his headache. “Imagine my surprise when Father Alejandro gave the sermon."

"I know I didn't accomplish what I set out to do yesterday, Liam, but it'll be easier this way." Shay held up his hand, blocking out the light streaming through the dirty window. "He only surrounds himself with nuns. Ana Maria can allow me to get close enough. You know, we have to do it his way. It won't work any other way."

"He still has the artifact, Shay. Achilles did not tell me what it does, but know that it could end the people's free will in the hands of our enemy. It needs to go back to our brothers in Rome."

 **Free-will?** Shay thought. **Funny, I do not feel very free at the moment.** Over his travels with Liam and witnessing their allies's hypocrisies, he had begun to doubt the Brotherhood's ideals. How could they condemn the Order when they, themselves, commended some of the same actions? Achilles Davenport merely overlooked it when the acts would benefit the Brotherhood.

"You need to be careful around this Ana Maria," Liam continued, "I know how you like the ladies who haven't taken their vows yet, but I feel something is off about her. Since when can a nun drink you under the table? That is what she did, innit?"

“That isn’t what happened,” Shay tried, “entirely.”

“Oh, entirely? She did just as I said, Shay, and you know it. That doesn’t sit well with me. It just doesn’t seem like a nun should be able to do that. What if she’s a Templar agent? What if she’s meant to protect the priest by getting you all sauced and making you worthless.”

“Then, why was she so eager to get away from me?” Shay asked as he massaged his temples. “You’re seeing shadows, Liam. It is different with this woman simply because this woman is different. There has never been one like her in my life, I know it deep down, there won’t ever be.”

Shay stood, fetched a brush and a ribbon on the nightstand. He brushed his hair, slicking the wild locks back, and placed the entire mess into a tight ponytail. He wanted to make himself respectable for when he met Ana Maria in front of the Convent. If she was on her last test before she undertook the vows, he would have to woo her quicker than any other woman, and this time, his entire happiness seemed to be pressing down upon his shoulders.

“When I bumped into her in front of the church," Shay explained to Liam as he walked back to the table, picked up the bead, and placed it in one of the pouches around his waist, "it felt as if lightning had struck me. She woke me up. Made me realize that this is one of 'em defining moments. Everything will be viewed as before I met Ana Maria and after. I intend to wed her."

"What?! Were you into our morphine last night? She is to be a nun. You were right. She spent much of last night trying to get away from you. You have only known this woman for less than a day. And you intend to marry her?"

“It’s a piece o’ piss, Liam,” Shay insisted. “You worry too much. Remember who we’re talking about. I’ve gotten some of these nuns to be to do far worse things than marry me. I told you about the one back when I was a teenager, right? When I worked on my father’s ship?”

“Shay, as horrible as the things that poor girl let you do to her might be,” Liam answered, not amused, “it still isn’t marriage. This woman is married to God. She can’t marry you. It isn’t possible. Don’t you understand that? For once, listen to me, Shay?”

“I’ll not hear it, Liam. At the very least, it a means to get close to the priest, and you know it.”

“And that is as far as you’ll play it, Shay. The rest can’t happen.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Annabelle Vasser**

**Location: Tomar, Portugal**

**Date: 1750**

**1.**

**I don’t know what the Hell I am doing,** Annabelle thought as she crossed her arms. Jacques had asked her the same question, demanding to know who Shay was, and he didn’t seem to believe her when she had explained how she met the Irishman. He had called her a whore. Was that what she was? She couldn’t deny it. After all, she went to a strange man’s room willingly.

She looked down at her hand, the piece of cloth Shay had lovingly wrapped around her wound. Despite his care, it would leave a scar. Still, she remembered the concern in his eyes when he had cleaned it, the gentle touch he displayed as if she were his woman or child. There was something developing between them: something that even her old teacher recognized and it frightened even the seasoned assassin.

 **Serves the bastard right.** She knew Jacques had an interest in her, and it was only growing as she grew older. Annabelle held no interest in Jacques. He betrayed her. It also didn’t help that he told her to find her own accommodations. She knew Jacques was acting out of spite. Her friendship with the Irishman had come with complications. Annabelle didn’t care.

“Hello there, Ana,” Shay’s soft voice cut into her thoughts. Her heart soared upon hearing his voice. He smiled at her, his eyes taking on a wolfish mischievous gleam. “I hope you’re not fretting about the ruffians love. I told you I’ll protect, and that’s just what I’ll do. No harm’ll come to you.”

"Did you step out of a story book?" As they walked down the path, she adjusted the basket she carried: some items she purchased in the marketplace. Jacques told her to solve the problem she created, and she would do just that. Maybe, it would take her longer than she expected.

“This ain’t no fairy tale,” Shay laughed, “but if you play your cards right, there could be a happy ending.”

A gentle breeze whooshed through the grounds of the covenant, her dark hair rippled behind her. Strands whipped against her cheeks. The tailcoat of his robes swayed against his legs. The hint of oranges overcame her, startling her with the knowledge he gussied himself up to escort her.

“Then it would definitely not be a fairy tale,” she stated flatly. “The ones I know all end so gruesomely. There is no happy ending, sir, because I am a nun. This is not a fairy tale, yes, because it is a fable, and the moral is such: do not attempt the impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible when the heart is involved,” he pressed.

“ **I am a nun!** ”

“That’s your first mistake. I don’t hold it against you.”

“You are impossible, sir. Would you even have an interest in me if I were not a nun?”

He took the basket from her. She eyed him and assumed he was trying to show her how much of a gentlemen he could be. It would explain his change of appearance. His short, tight ponytail fluttered in the wind. “If you were a whore, Ana, I would still have an interest in you.

“I’ve never met a woman like you, and I would be hard press to again. You left a mark on me.”

Annabelle didn’t understand his fascination with her. He seemed to see beneath her clothing, to the adventurous woman she used to be, the girl who journeyed to Peru for her first contract without the help of her teacher. He seemed to want to protect her, to shelter her from the dangers of the world. Shay could not. He would never know what it would feel like to be responsible for a thousands lives lost.

She turned left upon the path, merging onto a dirt one. Not knowing where she was going made this outing tricky. Judging from the way the river flowed, she assumed that there was a spring in that direction. They would only have to stumble upon the first one they see and collect some water. Then, she could return to Jacques and kill the priest.

 **With luck,** Annabelle thought, **Jacques and I can return to France without any more delays.** She looked forward to leaving the frustrating Irishman behind and never give him a second thought — or that was what she was telling herself. Shay was a charming fellow.

“There’s something you lot don’t understand,” he continued. “You said this here is your final test, healing this injured fellow. You’re not a nun, yet, Annie. There’s still time to remedy your error. To realize where you belong, with me.”

“You are being serious, Master Cormac? I. Belong. With. You? Have you listened to yourself, sir? You have not known me for more than a sunset and a sunrise. How could you know such things?”

 **Is he a Templar dog?** Annabelle thought. It would explain why he insisted on continually pursuing her. He couldn’t have been interested in her. Except perhaps her former teacher, no one entertained a relationship with her.

Before she could asked him, she saw a large man standing in the middle of the path. He held a large ax, the butt resting against his shoulder. “Look what we have here, boys.

“What’s a grimy penejo like you doing walking with a nun, nino?” the same man goaded on. “You look like someone tried to spit shine a horse’s backside. And you smell half as good.”

“I’ll make you eat those words,” Shay growled, taking a fighting stance. She watched him flow into a graceful stance like one trained to fight for life. She thought it odd for a sailor.

“It makes sense,” the hulking man laughed, to which his retinue joined in. “You are Irish. I’ve never met an Irishman who didn’t smell like shit. Careful, sister, he is probably going to rape you. Course, that’s what we’re going to do anyway. Better a Spanish cock then some pox ridden Paddywack stub.”

“Stop waggin’ your fuckin’ tongue, you bastard or I’ll punch you in the fuckin’ neck! Get over here and get what’s coming to you . Leave the ax. Man to man. Or are you afraid to let an Irishman kick your arse?”

Annabelle couldn’t believe the entire thing was happening. It seemed a little too coincidental for her: her story about bandits blocking a spring coming true. She would have thought he planned the entire thing, but he didn’t know where they were going. She hadn’t when they started out that morning, preferring to plan the direction as they went along.

Never in her wildest dreams, did she think they would run into a group of bandits. Not that she was really worried about them. Worse men then they had tried the same thing, and all those men met was death. If Shay failed to protect her, these men would meet the same fate.

At that moment, she couldn't act. She couldn’t defend herself. A nun wouldn’t possess her abilities: the skills Jacques had instilled in her at a tender age. She couldn’t afford to allow Shay to know what she was. Even though he was a sailor, he would impede her contract. He already was, she reminded herself.

The man advanced on Shay, stepped close to the Irishman, and swung toward his gut. Shay countered and jabbed forward with a right hook. In rapid secession, he landed a left punch, followed by a right, and finally another left.

With each blow, the thug grunted. He couldn‘t react quick enough. He didn‘t defend himself. Blood sprayed from his mouth and nose.

Shay cursed as the other man landed a punch to his face, finally. Her stomach dropped, eager to join into the fray and protect the man who was defending her. No one defended her. She still couldn’t allow her identity be known. He wouldn’t understand, and she didn’t want to mess up her mission like she did in Peru.

Her fretting was for nothing. The leader landed on his back with a final jab. His nose crunched beneath Shay’s powerful uppercut. Breathing hard, his body shaking with his rage, Shay turned toward the remaining men. She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine the fury displaying upon the flesh.

As she watched Shay take out the remaining two men by clunking their heads together, she made a startling realization. She had seen those moves before: the gracefulness of his strikes. Someone trained him in the same disciplines as she was. It explained everything. Shay Cormac was an Assassin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Shay Cormac**

**Lisbon, Portugal**

**1750**

**1.**

“No one has one did anything like that for me before,” Ana said as she sat on the fabric with her legs folded beneath her. She leaned forward, wiping the blood off of Shay’s face, and supported herself with a steady hand on his knee.

Once more, he saw a shadow pass over her face. He ached to wrap his arms around her and comfort her as he drew her pain within himself. That was how he knew she was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.  


**If Achilles disapproves of it,** he thought, **he can sod off.** Liam already forbade him for doing anything with her. He disproved, stating she was married to God, but it never stopped Shay before. His aunt once told him that matters of the heart were complicated. As he looked at Ana Maria, he could not help but think his aunt was right.

"I don't think it'll scar." She poured some water from the vial onto a cloth, recited a prayer to the Lord to bless it, and glided it across his face. She was so close he could smell a light floral scent: reminding him of a warm spring day. "Your handsome face won't be marred because of me."

 **I'll have to pay those lads extra,** Shay thought. The large Spanish fellow had landed a lucky strike, but it seemed to have done the job. She no longer refused to be near him. There was also a light in her eyes that was not there a day ago. He caught her stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Ana Maria was coming around to his way of thinking — or so he thought.

"Wait." He reached up and held her wrist as he stared into her eyes. "You think I'm handsome?"

"Yes. Any woman would think her rescuer would be handsome. I am glad that you decided to accompany me. I shudder to think what would have happened if you were not here."

"I didn't ask you if any woman would think I'm handsome, Annie," Shay clarified, trying something new with the moniker. He made a curious face, then appeared to decide against it. "Ana Maria. Annie just doesn't suit you. Anyway, I was asking if you thought I was handsome."

"Well," she responded, unable to find any other words to delay the inevitable, "yes."

"Was that so hard to admit?" he chuckled with a wry grin.

"You have no idea.”

"Is it so bad? Doesn't the Lord say to love?"

"I will confess what you say speaks to my soul, but you are wrong. The Lord did not mean the type of love you do. I have been promised to him."

Shay could see the resistance eroding in her gaze. It wouldn't be too long now, and she would see his way. Before Ana Maria, he would have been content on just sleeping with her. Not now. Shay wanted something more: her as his wife.

 **I'm a fool,** he thought. He had barely seen nineteen winters, and everything told him it was too early to be thinking about such things with her. Liam didn't understand how he felt about this woman. One day had changed his life. No. Ana Maria changed it. There was something about her that made him stop in his tracks, that made him want to protect her with his dying breath. It wasn't something that was so easy to overlook.

He reached over the space between them, brushed a smudge of dirt from her cheek, and waited for her to decide on how she wanted to proceed.

"Regardless on your . . . impossible . . . pursuit of me," she said, "it remains that you have saved my life. Not many could say they would risk their life for someone. You are a good man, Shay Cormac. Do not allow anyone to tell you otherwise."

"I wouldn't allow anything to happen to you, Ana Maria. You will never go through what you did as a child again. Please believe me."

"I believe you," her voice was soft, much like someone who was unsure of what she felt.

"How could anything feel so right be wrong?"

In the next moment, Shay watched the struggle within her dissipate. He thought she would tell him that the Lord would prevent such a union between them, finding some excuse not to allow herself to get close to anyone. The vulnerability he saw in flashes upon her countenance would not allow her too.

He leaned over, pressed his lips to her lips, and marveled as the simple embrace breathed life into him for the first time since his father died and Liam brought him into the Brotherhood.


	7. Chapter 7

**Annabelle, Vasser**

**Tomar, Portual**

**Date: 1750**

**1.**

“I know what I saw,” Annabelle remarked to Jacques as she sat at a table in the far corner of the inn’s common room with him. She could still taste Shay upon her lips, the combination of whiskey and mint amalgamating into an intriguing blend that would only belong to the Irishman. She last saw him ten days ago, but she still remembered the gentle way he cradled her as he kissed her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jacques said. He lifted the flagon of alcohol to his mouth and sneered as he took a sip from it. Having a hatred for Irishmen like most of her countrymen, he could not fathom Shay belonging to the Brotherhood.

 **Shay would have finished the entire flagon,** she thought. Hating the fact Shay was on her mind, she contemplated what the future could mean for both of them. She believed him to be an Assassin: not from the Irish Brotherhood, either. Would that mean he was from the Colonies?

“He moved like he had training, Jacques,” she replied, keeping her original French accent. Annabelle was in a disguise -- a different one -- here too. She smoothed out the silken dress. At the present, the approaching summer’s heat boiled the inside of the tavern. To cope, she went without the dress’s stays.

"I can tell you," Jacques relayed, becoming increasingly annoyed, "unequivocally, that no bureau of the brotherhood in any part of this world would accept such an ignorant oaf as this man. He is not an assassin. He is a common soldier, a sailor of no import."

"What is he doing here?" Annabelle pressed, keeping her voice measured and calm. She would not draw attention to herself. She was always better at hiding and disguise than combat.

"What is anyone doing here? You are jumping at shadows since Peru, Annabelle. Perhaps, you are not ready for this yet. Perhaps I am pushing you too hard, too fast. Do I need to finish this mission, or can you focus on the task at hand?"

"No, I have it under control, Jacques." She watched Shay still, though she spoke to her mentor. "Posing as a nun is the best way. We've discussed it already. You might be better at many things, but you couldn't pull off a convincing nun."

“Then, I expect you to conclude the business by tomorrow night.” He took another drink from the tankard before he turned to Annabelle. “No more distractions. Do I make myself clear?”

She knew exactly what he meant by that line. He thought she had spent too much time dwelling on her relationship with Shay, asking herself if she truly loved him, and by doing that, she granted the Priest additional time upon the Earth.

“Oui (Yes).” The Irishman still commanded her attention, causing her to not ignore her mentor but to not look at him, but Jacques pretended he did not notice. She would have if she were him. Nothing escaped her attention.

 **This is the perfect way to know if Shay is serious about a relationship with me.** A part of her wondered if he pursued her as he thought she would be a nun, trying to corrupt the sisters before the vows. Surely, she meant nothing more than a sexual conquest. Shay’s honeyed words seemed to show the opposite. He acted as if he was in love with her. And that was what she wondered about. Was it all an act for him?

A redheaded women approached Shay. They leaned over the table, and from Annabelle's seat, she could see down the front of their dress. The tarts too had forgotten to wear their stays, but not for the same reason as the Frenchwoman. Over the tables between them, her gaze met Shay's, and for one horrified moment, she thought he would come to her, that he saw her beneath her disguise.

She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable. He would come to her, discover her, and demand an explanation. He would see through her lies, to the person beneath, and he would deem her unlovable. That was what she was: revolting.

Shay didn't move. He smiled at the woman as he said something Annabelle could not discern.

"You desire this man?" Jacques spat as he noticed how long Shay held her attention. "That is the only explanation why the business is not concluded yet. What do you think is going to happen between you and this Irish savage? Do you think he is going to whisk you away? Is he going to marry you? Give you children?"

Shay stood, departing with the other woman. Her chest tightened, feeling as if a fire burned within her body. Her first assumption about him was correct. She didn't mean anything to him.

"No." She drowned her tankard of whiskey in one gulp. "I hold no illusions I can ever have a family. Our work is too important for that."

After the incident in the Peruvian sea, she knew she could never be happy with anyone. Annabelle Vasser did not deserve that. The other truth was that no one in the Brotherhood deserve it. They were all tainted by their sins.

**2.**

**Who the hell does he think he is?** Annabelle thought as she followed behind Shay and the mystery woman.

This was like every other time she tailed someone, usually to eavesdrop on what her target had to say, and yet, this time was different. She would not kill the man, would only find out if he was serious about the things he said to her. At that moment, she wondered why he wanted to be with her. Was it due to him loving her?

 **He is not in love with me,** she thought. If he was, he wouldn’t have left with the other woman. As Shay laughed at something the other woman said that was inaudible to her, Annabelle’s cheeks flushed. He should have been pursuing her that night. It should have been her he was going to make love to.

Shay turned down a darkened ally. He offered his arm to the other woman, and she accepted. There was nothing romantic in the embrace, just a man escorting a woman, but Annabelle sneered. She wanted to look away, to go back to the tavern. Her jealousy wouldn’t allow her to. She needed him to dig himself into a grave to end their budding relationship, and she couldn’t walk away until he had done so.

Annabelle followed closely enough to be able to see what was happening clearly enough, but she didn't dare get close enough to hear anything that was being said. To her, it looked like Shay had purchased a prostitute, and she was escorting him back to his room for the night. The events that followed, at first, surprised her, then confirmed her original suspicions.

Shay turned abruptly, slamming his left hand into his escort's chest. While she couldn't hear what was said, she heard the unmistakable click and whir of an activated hidden blade. In the next moment, the woman slumped dead. Annabelle gasped at the revelation, and Shay looked directly at her. She was mortified, unable to move for a moment.

"Ana Maria?!" he questioned, as if doubting what his eyes saw. "What are you doing over there?!"

She had to get over the revelation, over the way she felt vindicated for what she had always known about him. His fighting stance revealed him to be a brother, but this proved it to her. There was no need for further proof, no need to tell Jacques. He wouldn’t believe her.

“When I have things on my mind,” she lied, explaining away the reason she was up there, “I often take a walk.”

“It make sense now I think 'bout it. Give me a moment, and I'll escort you back to the convent.”

“Sir,” she said, trying to react to the situation as any reasonable person would. Annabelle had just seen her lover commit murder, and she had to react normal. She couldn’t have him guessing she was in fact a member of the Brotherhood. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not after what I just witnessed. I think I am safer here.”

"I'd never hurt you," he explained, "but you better believe she'd have killed me. If she spotted you, she'd kill you too. I didn't have a choice. Come on."

 **Ana Maria would trust him,** she thought as she made for the edge of the roof. Lowing herself to the first handhold, she tried to make it look like she received no formal training. It was harder to do than she thought.

"Who was she?" she asked, trying to encourage him to tell her who he really was. Their relationship could begin if he would tell her. Her heart quickened as she thought of waking up to this man.

"A woman. She pulled a knife on me. Tried to rob me, you see. I am sure she would have murdered me, Sister, if I didn't kill her first."

 **Liar,** she thought. She had seen what had happened. There was no indication that the woman was an escort, and judging from how quick Shay reacted, she would have guess that the woman was part of the Tomar Rite. Did she have ties to the Priest? Had Shay complicated the contract?

"Ah, it was your life or hers." She bent down, placed her hands beneath the woman's armpits, and motioned to him. "Grab her feet. We can't leave her here. I am sure the authorities would be able to trace her back to you. We'll place her in the river. People'll find her. I hope they'll give her a decent burial, but they probably will not."

**3.**

"Stay here," Shay said as they stopped upon a bridge on the outskirts of town. The stone bridge led into Tomar as it was built over The Nabão. "Watch for any authorities. I can lift her over the barrier to the river below."

She crossed her arms over her chest, turned toward the town, and watched for any movement from inside. They couldn't be caught. If they were, she would have failed her mission. The Priest would be moved to another location: one that the Brotherhood would take too long to find. The artifact would be lost to them, and if it is as dangerous as the Council claimed, then that couldn't happen.

 **He and I are not going to have a happy ending,** she thought. When she was with him, the Peruvian phantoms ceased haunting her. She would focus on Shay, on the way he made her feel, and that would be enough to allow her to heal. However, Annabelle knew she didn't deserve to heal. She had caused too much death. Innocents died from her choices.

"You continue to surprise me, Sister," Shay's voice cut through the memories trying to assault her. She had been so caught up in her trauma that she didn't hear the splash as the body met the river. "You've had an interesting past before you pledged yourself to the Church, didn’t you?"

"Not more than any other." She smoothed out her dress, the very one she had wore in the tavern's common room earlier that evening. "There is plenty of reasons why one would become a nun, but I don't think it matters much either. I am not destined to be one anyway. You've changed that. I known you for almost a fortnight, and my entire life is different."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Is that good or bad?"

"Remains to be seen. Who was that woman, and what was she to you?"

He didn't answer straightaway, and it made her all the more suspicious. She was fairly certain at this point that he was an Assassin, though she wasn't going to accuse him outright and blow her cover. Assassin cells operated separately for a reason. She wondered why he was here, but she couldn't ask. And she wasn't going to go to Jacques about it. He would remove her from active duty in a heartbeat if she even said anything else about Shay.

"It's just some prostitute," he said, finally settling on a weak lie. He didn't seem to be a good liar, from what she could tell.

"Why would you buy a prostitute, Shay?" she questioned. "And what's more, why would you kill her? What is going on? Are you in trouble?"

"No, no trouble. You see, I bought the prostitute for Liam. He's terribly ashamed, and wouldn't buy one for himself, but I know he would appreciate it, see? As for why I killed her. She pulled a knife on me. Was trying to rob me."

Annabelle had been looking for an excuse to separate herself from Shay. Their relationship was growing to fast for her comfort, her emotions for the Irishman too real. Through his lie, she would receive freedom. Plus, she wouldn't have to tell Jacques what she learned or expose Shay for what she believed him to be. Her cover would be intact. She would lay the foundation to get away from him as she didn't deserve the devotion of such a man.

"I am supposed to believe you bought a prostitute for your friend?" She glared at him, the first time but not the only time he would be under the hefty weight of her false ire. Her fingers slid down each bead of her rosary. "Is that the best you can conjure up in such a short amount of time? It is not very believable. You bought her for yourself. Admit it."

"No." Shay was starting to get heated now too. He didn't shout. His anger was like a treacherous river beneath a sheet of ice: dormant until a person sunk beneath the surface. "I have never lied once about my feelings about you. Not once. I have no need for such services. Not when I am in love with you."

"You are in love with me?! Don't be ridiculous."

"You talk of change, Ana Maria. How you can't take your vows as you have failed your postulancy. Can you not see the influence you have over me? I do love you. I think I have since we first met each other outside the convent."

"Shay, you need to leave now before you can't. My life is too complicated for anyone. Especially for you. We are not a storybook. You are not my knight in shining armor. I am meant to walk this world alone." Before she turned to walk away, she added, "Whatever is between us has to be forgotten. There is no other way."

"I aren't going no fucking place," Shay growled, grabbing her by the arm. He pulled her around with a violent jerk, his fingers biting into her flesh. He didn't give her an opportunity to raise the protest that was on the tip of her tongue. He crashed into her, his lips pressing into hers with a violent tenacity that melted her resolve like a frost peeling away from the rising sun. That is what he became to her in that moment; the center of her universe.

She didn't know how long he kissed her, nor did she realize that they had moved across the bridge into a lightly wooded park. She had been unaware of any movement, drifting outside her own body, floating on the currents of love until she felt the rough bark against her back.

"Don't stop," she pleaded, her earlier protestations withered away and forgotten. "Please, Shay, whatever you do, don't stop."

“I don’t plan to,” he growled against her lips. The warmth of his breath heated her blood, and she found she could not concentrate on anyone but Shay and the urgent need coursing within her. She gripped his leather-clad arm, feeling the cool material beneath her fingertips. “Not now. Never.”

Throughout her life, she never held an interest in men. Her childhood trauma killed any desire she could have held for anyone. Shay, however, was a different story. He cared for her, the urgent way he treated her reflecting within his warm embrace, and she wanted him.

Once he lifted his head again from her lips, he stared into her eyes. The look created a roaring boil within her, threatening to consume both of them — if it had not already had. She needed to lose herself with Shay that night. Was what they feeling real? Could she give up everything to be with this man, this Assassin?

“Go slow.” His hand lifted her petticoat, the lush silk gown draped over his arm. She could feel his touch against the linens clothing her most intimate parts, but it felt as if he touched her flesh. A fire burned bright within her. There would be no stopping. Not now. “I have not experienced a man before. You will be the first.”

"Well then," Shay said, suddenly changing in demeanor. He stopped fondling her and stepped back a couple of steps. "If that's true, then we aren't going to be doing this here."

"It is true," Annabelle admitted, wishing now she had just let him do what he was going to do. She regretted saying anything, but there was a small part of her that was feeling some measure of relief. "I have never been with a man."

"We'll go back to my room and do this proper," he said. "There's no way your first experience with a man is going to be with tree bark biting into your back, out in the elements like this. No. We're going to do this right."

"You are so gallant," she whispered, out of breath from it all. "I had thought chivalry long dead."


End file.
